


Take Up Thy Stethoscope and Walk

by Sweaters (Guhs)



Series: Arnick Galentine [2]
Category: Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Arcade is a Tree, Crossover, Gen, Minor Personality Tweaks, Plot, Possible Eventual Relationship, Post-Canon (New Vegas), Private Dick Nick, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 08:37:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20112238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guhs/pseuds/Sweaters
Summary: Arcade abandons his quest for stability for something more worthwhile: adventuring the Commonwealth with everyone's favorite sentient tin can.





	Take Up Thy Stethoscope and Walk

“_Extra, extra! Is your neighbor really human? We have the exclusive! Get your paper here! _”

So… Diamond City wasn’t exactly what Arcade expected it to be.

Maybe he should've realized that the name was a baseball reference and not a nod to the social class of the inhabitants, considering it was a city inside of a goddamn _ballpark,_ but he did not; when he stepped underneath that giant green gate for the first time and descended the stairs into a colorful, roundish city bustling with life and color, he realized it was… just like every other moderately civilized settlement in the wasteland. Maybe there wasn’t a complete presence of abject poverty from where he was standing, but it had all the hallmarks of a city that seemed perfect on the outside, but probably had very significant issues with the infrastructure.

Although this place _did _have a surgery center. Most places were lucky to find someone with hands stable enough to manage basic sutures. That was something.

The place was ugly as hell, but at least it had more color, and maybe a bit more character than other settlements he had come across. The sun hit this place a little bit different, lent itself to a more… altogether pleasant feeling. Even if it did smell a little bit like wood rot and paint fumes.

“Hey, newcomer! You gonna get a paper, or just stand there with your head up your ass?” A mildly aggressive prepubescent voice penetrated Arcade’s fantastical little miasma, and as his eyes settled on some 12-year-old wearing too many layers on top of a box, his musings were well and truly killed.

“What?”  
“Are you gonna get a paper, or what? I ain’t talkin’ cause I like the sound of my own voice, you know.”

The very lofty green sign overhead the Soapbox Sally finally caught Arcade’s attention: _Publick Occurrences._

“Are you peddling old newspapers, kid?”  
“I ain’t peddling nothing, Mister. This is a business, the Commonwealth’s _only _running newspaper. Written in-house and distributed from this very building.” _That’s… adorable._

“Okay, a newspaper. I’ll bite. What’s the news?”  
“Read it for yourself.” True to word, a thick paper was thrust into Arcade’s chest with a surprising amount of force. “One free paper to newcomers. If the Institute grabs you in the night, don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Arcade blinked down at the paper. _The Synthetic Truth,_ written by Piper Wright. _The what now?_ “The ‘Institute’?”

Sporting an exaggeratedly dire look, the girl’s voice almost dropped into a whisper. “You ain’t heard of the Institute, Mister? They snatch people up in the night, and no one hears from them again. They look just like me and you, no way of telling what’s real and what’s not. It’s all in the paper; better read up before they grab you, too.”

“Who’s gone missing?”  
“Drifters, residents, stadium seat snobs… Seems every year or so someone’s gone, and we all know why. So you better be careful, newcomer. The Institute is out there, and they’ll grab you, too. Like I said, It’s all in the paper.”

In other words… the bogeyman. A scary story to tell in the dark and this kid was spinning it into _news stories?_ Who gave her access to a printing press? “Sounds like nonsense to me. I’m good on the paper, thanks.” The paper was snatched back before he had time to fully hold it out.

“_Fine,_ don’t listen to the little girl, asshole.”  
“I don’t really plan on it.”  
“Fuck off.”

Objective Complete: _Make Friends With the Locals._ Off to a remarkably fantastic start, Arcade. Once he was sure the kid wouldn’t pounce him, the good doctor continued his journey. A few colorful insults definitely followed him, but he could probably take that kid in a fight if he needed to.

The city marketplace had all the hustle and bustle of New Vegas and then some. The only main difference is that fewer people seemed intoxicated, nobody was crying in the streets, and the local police didn’t look like they could rip you in half with one stern glance. Also, nobody spat on you as you walked by.

All-in-all, an improvement.

But he supposed he wasn’t really there to see the sights; Arcade came here for a reason, and if he didn’t go through with it now, he’d probably lose his nerve and go back on his way to a nice, peaceful, boring life.

_Look for the neon, kid._ And look for the neon he did.

Eyes followed him through the market, particularly the ones hidden behind helmets. Maybe this place didn’t get a whole lot of newcomers, because he _knew _he didn’t look very threatening. He never had, even when he sprouted beyond the height of most everyone else he met. He just didn’t have that kind of stage presence, so to say the attention made his skin crawl was an understatement.

Beyond the uneven path, the bulletin board with over a dozen strips of vague bounties nailed to it and the bus on top of the building lay his first sign: a bubblegum pink DETECTIVE ->. Around the corner and down the remarkably dark, narrow alleyway lined with doors and mailboxes, past the two bickering maintenance men, he found his destination:

_Valentine Detective Agency,_ brighter than the first sign and adorned with an arrowed heart. The detective had all the quaint charm of the old world for no good reason, but Arcade… he didn’t mind it. Call it nostalgia for a time never experienced.

The red door at the end of the culvert was ungodly loud, and the first thing to hit the inquiring blonde was the smell of stale cigars, old paper, and musty humidity. The tiny building seemed to object to his taller frame even _considering _stepping into it, but alas, it had to be done. A smaller woman in a pink skirt flitted back and forth across the small space between filing cabinets, ripping open drawers, rifling through the files, and slamming them. Rinse and repeat for several seconds.

“Hello-”  
“Sorry, you’ve kind of caught me at a bad time. I lost… er, _misplaced _an important file.” **_Slam. _**“Just a second.”  
“I was just looking for-”  
“One minute, please.”

And a minute she took, flurrying around like a pink-and-leather cyclone, leaving heady puffs of dust in her wake. _Okay. Best to wait her out._ Arcade jostled his pack off, cradling it between his legs as he sat down on the unnecessarily luxurious white armchair in front of the desk.

_Crinkle._

Stiffening quicker than a teenager in Gomorrah, the good doctor lifted just enough to grab whatever he had just sat his 6’5” ass on. Lo, it was a convenient plot device: a beige folder marked **CONFIDENTIAL,** bearing a smaller, hand-printed label that simply read _Silas Carlisle._

“Uh, Miss. You possibly looking for a file on someone named Silas?” This finally got the woman’s attention - and good thing, too; she looked panicked, sweaty, and out of breath. Any longer and she might’ve ceased to be.

“Yes. You found it?” Arcade lifted the file into sight. The woman visibly deflated as she crossed the room and grabbed - or rather, snatched it. “Oh my God. Thank you. I’m just… a little stressed.” A weak laugh as she straightened the crumpled edges. “Thank you. What can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for, uh… Well, I guess I never got his name. I’m looking for the…” Synthetic? The machine? The man with the hole in his metallic face? “The detective.”

“I’d say you came to the right place for that,” she replied, words punctuated by a very mirthful laugh that didn’t suit such a sweaty, tired face. “Nick stepped out for a minute. You’re welcome to wait there until he comes back, or I can take your information and get back to you.”

“I was actually looking to maybe work with h-” Had Arcade not been sitting in that chair, he might have been concussed from the sheer amount of casual force with which the door behind him was opened.

“That’s the last time I make the mistake of buying my cigars from the Dugout. That Vadim could talk the ear off a-- oh.” The detective was halfway in the door and already had his trenchcoat slipped off his shoulders by the time he turned away from the rack to face the room and, consequently, the good doctor. Glowing yellow eyes met… not glowing, less yellow eyes. Green, probably. And the silence grew.

Thankfully, it didn’t have time to marinate. “Fancy seeing you again so soon, Doc. Sanctuary not quite your speed?”  
“I… actually never made it up to Sanctuary. Seemed a little too…” Comfortable? Livable? Wonderful? Good to be true? “... Stable.”

Private Dick Nick and Pink Skirt both bristled at this statement, for lack of a better term. Both a little concerned, more than a little… uncomfortable? Was that pity he saw?

“Too stable? Can’t say I ever heard that before. What about you, Ellie?” Nick stepped around the desk to collect the file from Pink Skirt - Ellie - although looking through it seemed to be the last thing on his mind. Though his face was half made up of mottled something-or-other and exposed circuitry, he still managed to convey something like genuine bewilderment. Maybe a little bit of curiosity, too.

“Never. That’s all anybody ever really looks for these days. Stability’s a hard-won commodity.”  
“Call me an anomaly. Stability is nice, but… it’s just that. Stable.”  
  
“Alright, Anomaly. What brings you here, then?” The detective finally gave the file more than a passing glance, collecting a pen from Ellie Pink-Skirt to scribble down one thing or another while the woman in question went on about her business in the background.  
  
“I was wondering if you were looking for an extra set of hands. Someone to help out with the work around here maybe, or… offer medical services when things get a little too rough.” Ellie halted only briefly, though the startled look remained. Nick, to his credit, seemed to have a good poker face. The curiosity never left, though.

The synth tapped his pen against the file, taking inventory of the visible upper half of the good doctor. Arcade couldn’t help feeling just slightly vulnerable.

“Gotta say, when I said ‘stop in and say hi’ I was referring more to a social call. Work gets tough, but I’m not sure we much need a medic on deck, and there’s not a lot of work around here that applies itself to any kind of medical expertise. That is, unless you’re planning on following me around and being my personal stimpak.” This statement said in jest came with a low chuckle.  
  
“That sounds good to me.” There was a collective cessation of activity.

“I’ve never met someone so happy to volunteer for menial, dangerous work,” Ellie piped up, filling the growing silence.

“Not a lot of mercs around these parts?

“Not anymore. Nick?” The detective’s mask seemed to have broken, betraying the thought processing underneath if only for a moment or two.  
“I suppose having some backup might be nice.” Nick snapped the file shut and handed it to Ellie to be filed away. “Lot of cases to close, always more work to do… Feels like the Commonwealth is getting more dangerous by the day, especially with the Institute running rampant as it is.”

_… Oh, shit. _“The Institute?” The guilt sweat started before Arcade had time to process it.

“Yeah, they’re something like the bogeyman of the Commonwealth; something goes wrong, everyone blames them. Easy to see why. Those early model synths of theirs strip whole towns for parts, killing everything in their way. Then you got the newer models, good as human, that infiltrate cities and pull strings from the shadows. Worst of all, no one knows why they do it, what their plan is, or where they are. Not even me, and I’m a synth myself. A discarded prototype, anyway.”

So Arcade had to apologize to a little girl. That would definitely be a first, and not one he was remotely proud of.

“The Institute made you?” Intelligence 3/10.

“That’s the running theory. Never seen another synth like me, but I know I am one. Anyway, if you’re still serious about joining up, I guess we’d better get more formally acquainted. Name’s Nick Valentine, and this is my assistant, Ellie Perkins. I’m useless without her.” He extended his non-stripped hand.

“Arcade Gannon.” He shook the detective’s hand, both unnerved and fascinated by how much the graying, tepid of the artificial skin managed to feel _real,_ if only just so. “Pleasure to meet you both.”

“Likewise. That’s one hell of a name you got there.”  
“Ah, what can I say? My parents were really old-fashioned.”

“Look at where you are. I think old-fashioned is in good company around here.” The detective offered a smile and finally settled down into the seat behind his desk, fishing a mostly barren pack of cigars out of the top drawer. “Alright, guess we better get down to business, huh? Remember that stakeout you caught me on? Well, the meeting is tomorrow night at the Boston Public Library. I’m sure you remember hearing all that.” He didn’t. “Get stocked up and meet me around 6:30 in front of the city gate. We’ll head out and I’ll brief you on the way. There’s an inn on the other side of the marketplace, just past the meat shop. Tell Yefim that ol’ Nick sent you; I’m sure he’ll set you up with a good rate.”

Nodding along with the info, Arcade took that as his cue to leave and slung his pack back onto his shoulders, easing up out of the seat. “Inn, city gate at 6:30. Anything else I should know?”

“If you’ve got the caps, I’d recommend getting some good armor. See Myrna in the square if you’re feeling adventurous, or Arturo if you’re looking for something a little more worthwhile. Oh, and I’m considering this a trial run, so… try not to mess it up, huh?” The flash of a lighter lit up Nick’s mechanical smirk, but the glow of his eyes snuffed the vibrancy out of the flame.

**Author's Note:**

> So, uhh... I guess this is going to be some kind of series? I hope y'all like disappointment, 'cause that's my modus operandi. My signature dish, if you will.
> 
> If anyone's got any particular scenario or plot, minor or major that they might like to see unfold betwixt these two, feel free to let me know 'cause I'm always looking for unusual shit to get my characters into.
> 
> I've been working on this intermittently for the past 14 hours and I'm goddamn tired, lmao. I wasn't kidding when I said I don't sleep anymore. My blood sugar is like wooOOOOOO up there. Ah, old age.
> 
> Anyway! Hope you guys enjoyed, but if you didn't, go out and find something you do! I'm just doing this for fun, and I'll always be the first to admit that if I was any good, I would have finished any of my countless books and been an established, world-renowned author by now. Yet, here I am, writing video game fanfiction at my kitchen table until my legs fall asleep.
> 
> ;) Stay tuned or don't, I ain't ya mam.
> 
> P.S. I decided that I like independent works in the same tag better than one overarching series with chapters because it takes away a lot of freedom. So! Here we are! I'm reuploading like 12 hours after the fact lmao.


End file.
